Lock Them In The Closet?
by xiexiegirl
Summary: Specs, Dutchy, and Bumlets have the  annoying  tendency to play musical boyfriends. Pie-Eater just wants his couch back.


**Title: **Lock Them In The Closet?**  
>Author: xiexiegirl (dutchydoescoke on tumblr)<br>****Rating: PG-13  
>Pairing: SpecsDutchy/Bumlets  
><strong>**Word count: 2,255  
>Author's note: ...I have no excuse for this fic. None.<strong>

* * *

><p>"So, wait, clarify for me again? <em>Why<em> is Bumlets on Pie-Eater's couch again?" Skittery asked, taking a sip of beer and blinking at the figure on the couch in the next room, who had a tub of Chunky Monkey Ben & Jerry's ice cream on his lap, spoon in hand, and watching reruns of _Gilmore Girls_.

Skittery was fairly certain that Bumlets was singing along with the theme song at this point.

Racetrack sighed and took a sip of his own beer before explaining.

"Bumlets is on Pie-Eater's couch this week because Specs and Dutchy are together this week. Next week, Dutchy will be on his sister, Alex's, couch because Bumlets and Specs will be together. The week after that, Specs will be on _his_ sister, Becky's, couch because Bumlets and Dutchy will be together that week." David groaned and leaned over until his forehead was touching the table-top.

"When will they sort it out and realize they're _all_ ass-over-tea-kettle for each other? Because I am seriously sick of the musical boyfriends." He muttered, lifting his head long enough to take a sip of his Coke. "Why do we have to put up with the drama?" David dropped his head back down to the tabletop and smacked his head off of it a few times.

"Hey, Davey, don't do that." Jack pulled David upright by the collar of his shirt and shook his head at his best friend. "Anyway, we need to do _something_."

"Lock them in a closet?" Blink suggested.

"...I like this plan." Racetrack said. "Okay, Pie-Eater!" he called, and the guy in question stuck his head out of the kitchen. "Call Specs and Dutchy and get them over here. _Now_. Also, we need to borrow your utility closet." Pie-Eater nodded.

"We're getting Mister Maudlin off my couch, right?" he asked and everyone in the room nodded in unison. "Thank _god_. I am so happy."

* * *

><p>Okay, so, in retrospect, Bumlets probably should have slept on his own couch. But, since he shared an apartment with Specs and Dutchy, it would've been awkward. So he slept on Pie-Eater's. Only that ended up with him locked in Pie-Eater's utility closet with the <em>adorable<em> couple. (Can you feel the sarcasm?)

"Andrew Daniel Brian, let me out of this closet _now_." He all-but-shouted through the door, pounding on it to make sure they realized he was talking. Specs and Dutchy were leaning against the back wall of the closet, watching Bumlets and holding hands.

"Uh, how about no?" Pie-Eater responded. "You three have serious issues to work out and we aren't letting you out until they've been worked out." After that, the three could hear his footsteps fading down the hall.

Bumlets said a very nasty word in Spanish, which Specs and Dutchy repeated in French and German respectively. Bumlets then proceeded to flop (which he didn't do often, and when he did do it, only because he was in a foul mood, like just then) onto the floor and hum to himself, putting all his effort into ignoring his two best friends, both of whom were still leaning against the wall and holding hands, although they were watching Bumlets.

"Bumlets-" Dutchy started, but was cut off by Bumlets' humming, which increased in volume every time one of them tried to talk. After a few minutes of them trying to talk to him and his humming getting louder, Bumlets started singing to ward off any kind of conversation. It was from the stupid musical about Idaho (and potatoes, which still made Dutchy twitch whenever he ate french fries) that they'd done in middle school. When he ran out of songs he remembered from that, he fell quiet, hoping the other two had gotten the message.

They hadn't and within minutes, Dutchy tried talking to him again. "Bumlets-"

"_The elevated train by my_-" Bumlets started singing again. Dutchy and Specs sighed.

"_Alejandro Gabriel Garcia_, stop it and _talk_ to us." Specs snapped finally. "Look, you idiot, in case you haven't noticed, I'm ass-over-tea-kettle for you—oh, don't look at me like that, Dutch. You know I'm the same about you. As a matter of fact, can we just talk about the elephant in the room? And by 'elephant', I mean the fact that we're all in love with each other and just won't admit it." Bumlets took up a sudden interest in the label on hot water heater next to him while Dutchy found the cracks in the linoleum beneath his feet absolutely fascinating. "Guys. Dudes. Seriously, guys, we need to talk about this. Alejandro. Markus."

"What do you want me to say, Specs?" Bumlets asked, eyebrows raised. "'Hi, guys, I'm kind of in love with both of you'?"

"It'd be a nice start." Specs muttered and sighed. Bumlets rolled his eyes.

"Fine. Mark, Daniel, I'm in love with you both. Happy?"

"Ec_static_." Specs said sarcastically. Dutchy groaned when they both looked at him.

"My turn? I don't _think_ so." Dutchy looked back at the ground and started counting the cracks in the floor. After a minute of quiet, he looked back up to see both of them had their bitch-faces (as Spot referred to them as) on. "Oh, for fuck's sake. No. I am not talking about this. I don't do feelings. You both know that at this point."

Bumlets shook his head, started humming again ("Edge Of Desire" this time), and stared at his hands. Specs continued staring Dutchy down until he cracked. (It didn't take long.)

"Fine! Just—Fine! I don't—I suck with words, and I suck with feelings, and I suck even more when trying to use words to articulate those feelings. I just—I don't know how to say it. I just—I really like—well, okay, maybe—possibly? Um, love. Both of you. I just. I hate the whole 'musical boyfriends' thing we have going on because I hate that one of us is always left sleeping on someone's couch and I hate seeing you guys miserable and I just kind of love you and I just don't like either of you being upset and I hate that I suck so badly with words." Bumlets and Specs blinked and processed the word-vomit, translating it from Dutchy to English. Dutchy took up a renewed interest in the floor.

"So... Can we please just accept the fact that we're all in love with each other and get to the fun part?" Specs asked, eyebrows raised at both of them and grinning. Bumlets shook his head.

"One: Specs, what do you think this is, a romance novel? Two: Even if it did work that way, do you really think I'd put out before the first date?" He asked, giving Specs his best "bitch, please" face. Dutchy cracked up and after a minute, Specs did too, which made Bumlets laugh, because Specs' laugh was seriously dorky.

"Okay, seriously, though, can we please talk about this?"

"What else do you want us to say, Specs?" Dutchy asked, eyebrows raised at his boyfriend.

"How about we actually sort out what the hell we're doing?"

"We're nineteen. We have no idea what the fuck we're doing." Bumlets pointed out. Specs glared at him and groaned.

"Fine. Fuck you both." He muttered and proceeded to flop down and stare at the wall.

Bumlets and Dutchy blinked at Specs, who was scowling at the wall like it had personally offended him, and winced. Specs never swore (at least, never in English). Which meant that he really was upset.

"I'm sorry, Specs. I just—what, precisely, are we supposed to do? We have no clue how to handle this stuff. I mean, hell, Dutchy is as capable of handling and expressing his emotions as a ten-year-old." Bumlets said, ignoring the indignant _"hey!"_ from Dutchy. "Shut up, Dutch, it's true. Look, Specs, I love you guys. Both of you. I really do. But I'm only slightly less emotionally stunted than Dutchy."

"I am _not_ emotionally stunted."

"Give it up, Dutch. You're fighting a losing battle." Pie-Eater said from outside the door.

"Andrew, you bastard, let us out!" Bumlets shouted.

"I don't think so, Alejandro. Not until you and the other two sort it out." Bumlets let loose a particularly nasty and crude string of curse words that spanned five languages and lasted a minute and twelve seconds. (The five languages were English, Italian, French, German, and of course, Spanish. The Italian ones, he learned from Racetrack. And when they learned how to swear in the languages they were learning, Specs, Dutchy, and Bumlets all sat down and taught them to each other.)

(They'd been ten at the time and their parents grounded them for it. From each other. They could hang out with other friends, just not each other. By the end of the week, Bumlets had taken to climbing out his bedroom window and down the conveniently-placed tree, Dutchy was scaling the lattice board next to his window, and Specs mastered the art of getting up and down a rusty, broken fire escape (which lacked a ladder and was four feet off the ground). When the grounding was up, all three parents (Dutchy's dad, and Specs and Bumlets' moms) were _ecstatic_.)

Once he calmed down, Bumlets sat down next to Specs and leaned so his head was on Specs' shoulder.

"...Why are you doing that?" He asked. Bumlets shrugged.

"Because I've spent the last two days doing nothing but eating Ben & Jerry's and watching reruns of _Gilmore Girls_."

"Ah. That makes sense. I guess."

"It was either _Gilmore Girls_ or soap operas. Which would you choose?"

"Point taken."

Dutchy watched the exchange from where he was still leaned against the wall and sighed.

"Okay, it's obvious they aren't letting us out until we sort through this. What do we do?"

Bumlets shrugged. "Fuck if I know."

"You know, we could just give it a shot." Specs suggested.

"What, like, all three of us?" Dutchy asked.

"That would never work, Specs."

"Why not?"

"Because for one, we're human. We'd get jealous, or upset, or end up spending more time with one than the other. It wouldn't work." Bumlets explained, his eyebrows shooting into his hairline when Specs scoffed.

"So, we'll talk. If anyone gets upset about _anything_, we'll sit and talk about it and come up with a solution." The brunet explained. "And spending more time with one than the other? Aside from our rounds of musical boyfriends the past few months, when, in the nineteen years that we've known each other, spent more time with one than the other?"

"You have a point about that one."

"And besides, if it doesn't work out, would the damage it'd do be any worse than the damage another couple months of musical boyfriends might do?" Specs asked and Bumlets had to cede the point.

"Okay. Fine. But what if-" Bumlets was cut off by Dutchy's hand over his mouth.

"Stop worrying. If—and I stress _if—_something happens, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it." The blond said and smiled at Bumlets before dropping his hand. Bumlets smiled back.

"Alright, but if this goes south, I really don't want to think about what it'd do to our friends. Can you say 'utter catastrophe'?"

"Can you say 'understatement of the year'?" The other two said in unison.

"I'm having flashbacks to freshman year, just F.Y.I." Bumlets informed them. They both rolled their eyes.

"You try to fit in with the crowd and then end up making a comedy sketch out of it and this is what happens." Specs muttered. Bumlets smiled and shook his head.

It fell into a slightly awkward silence, which got more and more awkward with each passing minute. Eventually, Bumlets muttered a quiet _"fuck it"_, sat up and turned towards Specs before grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and kissing him. Dutchy made a noise of protest and Bumlets' hand shot out, grabbed his shirt, and pulled him down, at which point, Bumlets stopped kissing Specs and started kissing Dutchy.

* * *

><p>"Do you hear something?" Skittery asked, looking up from the cards in his hand and twisting around in his seat to glance down the hall. Racetrack pulled his head out of his hand and listened, as did all the others in the room. After a moment, their eyes all widened and they grinned.<p>

"_Finally!_" Pie-Eater shouted. "I get my couch back!"

"What do you say we go open the door now?" Racetrack suggested, grinning slightly.

"You just want revenge for all the times they accidentally walked in on you." Jack pointed out. Racetrack shrugged.

"So? I still say we do it."

Skittery and a couple of the others agreed, so they all got up and tiptoed down the hall to the utility closet.

"On three." Racetrack whispered. "One... Two... Three... Now!" And opened the door.

"_Shit, my eyes! Alejandro!"_

"_You didn't have to look, Andrew!"_

"_Why did you insist on opening the door? You knew what was going to happen when you locked us in here!"_

"_I can **never** unsee that!"_


End file.
